Do you know what it feels like to feel ugly all the time? I do. I know. I am not beautiful. Not even pretty. I don’t go through a whole week without having a pimple on my face that came out of nowhere. I hate my hair, how I look in pictures, and how I smile. I don’t know how beautiful people could smile and walk and do everything as gracefully and as effortlessly as breathing. It’s like they were born with it. Like they could do it while sleeping.
I do not have the ideal proportion. In fact, I’m even miles away from the ideal. I look for jeans sizes in hushed voices to avoid everyone having to hear my waistline.
I hate my palms that sweat a river whenever I get nervous.
I live on a tight budget every single day and limit myself to adoring designer clothes and fancy restaurants from afar. I’m choose from old high school t-shirts and hand-me-down clothes and faded jeans everyday. During lunch, I break my instant noodles into half to have enough food for dinner. I bookmark sites to download movies and keep from going to the theaters. I barely have enough to pay for rent, and so spending money just for the fun of it was already out of question.
I am socially awkward. I can’t make small talk without overthinking it, without practicing in my head the words I have to say. I can’t keep up with trends and the latest gossip. And you might only end up thinking that I’ve locked myself from the rest of the world since I was born. I don’t like eye contact. I hate noise. I’m no good at dancing. I don’t invite someone over to have movie nights or sleepovers or parties mainly because I don’t have anyone to invite. As if anyone would even think of going.
I will embarrass you. I will talk nonsense if we go out and I will ask you senseless questions. I will ask you when you first had a pet, why it died, or why it’s still living with you. You will let go of my hand when we’re together and you see your friends at the mall or even forget to introduce me to them altogether. The term girlfriend will have you chewing the insides of your cheeks like it was awkward to have it rolling in your tongue. Like it pained you to say it out loud.
And no matter how hard I try to not embarrass you – to give you gifts on simple occasions and hide the fact that I haven’t paid my phone bills yet, or dress nicely, no matter how uncomfortable I get, just to make you feel that I want to look pretty for you – I know some other girl out there doesn’t even have to try. She will love herself enough to love you the way you deserve.
But I will not be that lucky girl because I’m not good enough, and no, I do not deserve you.